


Together, Part 1

by D_S_Fanboy



Series: Together [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Inspired by A Song of Ice and Fire, Multi, POV Arya Stark, POV Daenerys, POV Jon Snow, POV Sansa Stark, POV Tyrion Lannister, Post-Season/Series 7, Stark Family Reunion(s) (ASoIaF), Winterfell, a song of ice and fire - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-08-29 11:04:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16742791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D_S_Fanboy/pseuds/D_S_Fanboy
Summary: Picking up at the end of Season 7, Jon and Danerys arrive at Winterfell to face the ramifications of their choices and the implications of the Great War to come.  Both must stretch beyond themselves to face the threat posed by the Army of the Dead, and Starks, Lannisters, Targaryens, Tullys, Tarlys, and many others are forced to do the same.  Later parts will explore the Great War itself.  There is less focus on events in the South than there will be in Season 8.





	1. Sansa 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction, and I would love feedback. This is my effort to hold off the Long Night, and explore my own thinking about what could happen at the beginning of Season 8.

The gates of Winterfell swung open as the Royal Party approached. Sansa had cleared the courtyard of all the normal work of the castle and of all people but her family, Sam, and a number of loyal retainers, including Master Wolken, to receive the King and Queen. She had said it was a family affair, and that Sam was only there representing the Night Watch, and the and as a loyal friend. The Maester was there as representative of the Citadel. The northern lords had not seemed unhappy to avoid a Targaryen, at least for the moment.

A group of northern cavalry and Dothraki horselords rode in at the head of the column and swung to the side, facing Sansa and the rest of Winterfell’s welcome. Jon followed alongside a silver haired woman who could only be Daenerys Targaryen.

Sansa was immediately struck by how the Dragon Queen seemed to grow out of her mount, a white stallion who himself seemed to emerge from the snow beneath his feet. She glanced at the Dothraki blood riders and saw a similar posture. Sansa noted their fierce visage and how their eyes followed Daenerys and anyone near her. Having grown up among warriors, she could see that these were men to be feared.

She turned her attention to Jon, who was dismounting, and moving toward her. Somehow, it comforted her that before he greeted Arya, he came up to her and embraced her. “Sansa . . .” he said. “Welcome home, Jon,” she replied. “It will be alright,” he whispered to her. She released him, and suddenly there were two many things happening at once. Jon turned, and staggered backwards as Arya launched into a fierce embrace, just as she had when she first gripped Sansa in the crypts, but even more so.

At the same time, her eyes darted towards the Queen, who dismounted gracefully. “No need for a box for this one,” she thought, as she saw out of the corner of her eye Jon moving to lean over to hug Bran, while at the same time, Tyrion, Brienne, Podrick and a knight dressed in the Westerosi style rode into the courtyard. A coach followed, which Sansa assumed carried Varys.

Jon was now turning to meet the Queen and escorted her to where Sansa stood. Sansa noticed that down from the horse, she was not tall, closer to Arya’s height than her own. “I don’t think height matters when you ride dragons,” Sansa thought. Sansa was impressed with the Queen’s self possession. She exuded regal authority yet a seemingly genuine warmth that she had seen only rarely, such as in Margery Tyrell.

“Your Grace, allow me to introduce my family. My sister, Sansa . . .”

“Your Grace, welcome to Winterfell,” she said, as she gave a deep, stately curtsy. “We are honored by your journey to our home.” Despite her internal commitment to greet the Queen with the hospitality that House Stark was obligated to provide, she could not contain the wariness that crept into her voice. 

The queen nodded, but Sansa could see that she had not missed her tone. “My other sister, Arya . . .” Jon continued.

Arya also looked wary, but her voice was tinged with a sparkle that Sansa knew stemmed from her curiosity about the Queen’s dragons. She bowed and replied, “Your Grace . . .” Arya had been even more stunned than herself that Jon had bent the knee, but appeared ready to give the Dragon Queen the benefit of the doubt.

Jon introduced Bran, and Sansa noticed a slight tightening around the Queen’s mouth as Jon introduced Sam.

The Queen responded to the various greetings. “My ladies, my lords, we are most honored to be at Winterfell and to be greeted by you. Jon Snow has told me so much about all of you, and I look . . .”

She was interrupted by a harsh cold wind, and a screetch from above. A huge black dragon suddenly was braking itself as it descended on to the courtyard. Dothraki, Northern soldiers, the Starks and the Queen’s own entourage scattered to avoid the giant beast

“Drogon!” yelled the Queen. Drogon settled, occupying the entire yard, smashing some of the awnings that lined the balcony, with his head practically touching the Queen as he lowered his shoulder.

“Daenerys,” Jon cried. 

“Jon,” the Queen replied, “I don’t know what Drogon is about, but it must be something urgent or he wouldn’t . . .”

Another dragon cry sounded above and Sansa, from the edge of the courtyard, could see a second dragon skitter across the sky, and then a third.

“The undead dragon,” Sansa thought, as her stomach suddenly constricted into knots, remembering what Bran had told her. “The Night King is here!”


	2. Daenerys I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys flies above Winterfell, where the Night King awaits. The Northern skies are heated by their flames and the burning of the North begins.

Daenerys practically flew up onto Drogon’s back and barely had time to grab onto his neck spikes before he pushed off into the air. 

Above her, Rhaegal and her beloved son, the dead Viserion, circled one another. “No,” Daenerys thought, “he is no longer Viserion. He is merely a thrall.”

A thrill of fear shivered up her spine as the thrall opened its mouth and a bright blue flame spouted out at Rhaegal. Rhaegal folded his wings, and shot toward the ground, out of harm’s way, suddenly breaking and trying to turn on the thrall, who, Daenerys could see, had a figure on its back. “The Night King. Let’s finish this,” Daenerys thought angrily. She urged Drogon on, who was gaining altitude rapidly.

The Night King sensed Drogon, and the thrall spun more quickly than she had ever seen anything of its size and veered away from Rhaegal. Aiming directly at Drogon, it opened its mouth once again to let out a stream of blue death.

Drogon banked away just as the thrall let out its flame, nearly unseating Daenerys. The Night King had the altitude advantage, and had it not been for Rhaegal, the thrall would have been able to adjust its flight to sear Drogon. But having missed Drogon initially, the thrall knew that Rhaegal was near. Rhaegal had used the respite that Drogon’s flight had created to gain more altitude and swing behind the thrall. The thrall itself dove towards the ground to avoid Rhaegal’s flames, which missed the Night King, but came dangerously close to seering Drogon, who had to veer away from the thrall to avoid Rhaegal’s flames. 

Out of position for an attack on the thrall, Daenerys willed Drogon to come around to wheel over Wintertown, placing himself between the thrall and the tents of the Knights of the Vale beyond. “I must not let the Dragon flame these people,” Daenerys thought. 

The thrall screamed in frustration as it continued its flight towards the ground, but away from Drogon and Wintertown. Flying close to the ground, it spewed its flames on the Wolfs wood, setting it on fire. The figure on the thrall’s back seem to raise its arms, and within moments a dark stormcloud swept towards Wintertown and suddenly the thrall was gone.

Daenerys began to follow, but her blood suddenly cooled. Flying into a cloud, and facing an unseen enemy with winds starting to buffet Drogon was too dangerous, particularly with the speed the thrall had shown. “No,” she thought, “this is not the time or place.” Sensing her change in attitude, Drogon broke off the pursuit, and Rhaegal also checked his flight. He gained attitude and stood sentry, seemingly unsure whether the thrall had really gone. Daenerys flew back to Winterfell, noting that the fire from the thrall’s attack on the ground did not seemed to be spreading. “Well, that’s one good result of all the snows,” Daenerys idly thought as Drogon landed before the gates of Winterfell. Her bloodriders surrounded her as she dismounted from Drogon’s shoulder. It had only been seconds, but the Dothraki had immediately sped out of Winterfell trying to assist their Khaleesi.

Daenerys smiled at her concerned riders, and reassured them that she was unharmed. “Wait here,” she said, as she saw Jon rode up.

“Your grace . . .” he began.

“A probe, it would seem,” Daenerys interjected calmly, projecting that she was fine and not to be fussed over.

Jon dismounted and walked beside her as they headed toward Winterfell once again.

“Aye, testing our defenses, or perhaps seeking to beat us here to destroy Winterfell before you could arrive,” Jon mused. “We did push on into the night last night before making camp.”

“I am not sure, Jon,” she said with a furrowed brow. “The Night King was there.” Jon stopped and did a sharp intake of breath. “Perhaps he wanted to try to surprise us,” Daenerys continued,” and take down Drogon or Rhaegal. But he seemed intent on us following him into that cloud he seemed to call up, if that is possible.”

“Luring you into an ambush? Perhaps. And with him controlling the winter storms, that will give him an advantage,” replied Jon. Before they could enter Winterfell, Arya emerged.

“Your Grace, are you alright? I saw that all from the Wall, ” Arya asked as she her eyes darted towards the sky, where Drogon was rejoining Rhaegal to mount patrol above Winterfell.

“Thank you, Lady Arya, but I am unhurt,” Daenerys replied. 

“Please, Arya is enough. That was . . . shocking. That was the Night King, wasn’t it?” Arya inquired.

“Yes, I am thankful for Lord Bran’s warning or the surprise of seeing . . .the thrall in the sky with the Night King would have been even more shocking that it was,” Daenerys replied, noting the lack of fear in Arya’s voice. “Wolfish indeed,” she thought. Aloud, she continued. “We drove him off . . . for now.”

Jon, “And we must warn others. He roams the North.”

Arya looked at the disturbed snow where Drogon had landed, and then back up the circling dragons. “I didn’t know your dragons had grown so large,” she said with a slight note of awe creeping into her voice.

Daenerys smiled, “I am not sure they have even stopped growing. You will have to meet them soon. They seemed comfortable with your brother, so perhaps that will extend to you as well.” 

They had now reached where Sansa was standing. Beside her was a huge wolfish creature, which had sidled against her protectively. “Ghost,” though Daenerys. Her dragons might be beautiful but so was this white direwolf.

“Your Grace, thank you for your quick action,” Sansa said. “If that . . . creature had not been checked, I hate to think what would have happened to Winterfell, or Wintertown, or the troops camped below.”

“Yes,” Daenerys replied, “I made sure Drogon cut it off from going that way. But I am not sure the Night King was here to wreck Winterfell. If another dragon had been killed . . .” Daenerys’ voice faltered for a moment, as Sansa eyes narrowed, following her closely. “This is one who misses nothing,” thought Daenerys. Aloud she recovered, “I don’t think we need to worry any more today, but the Night King has given us pause. I must make sure that one of my children is patrolling at all time, or at the ready to combat the thrall the Night King rides.”

“Come your grace,” said Sansa, “Let us go inside and show you the warmth of Winterfell, and dispel the chill of your flight.”

Daenerys noticed that the wariness she had heard in Sansa’s voice seemed to have eased, at least a bit, with more warmth than she had shown before and even a hint of gratitude. Perhaps the Night King had done her a great favor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a taster for the battles over the skies of Westeros. Had the Queen's party not arrived early, the Night King would have set Winterfell ablaze and lured the riderless Drogon into a fight he could not win. For now Daenerys has survived, but she will need to be more prepared the next time she meets the Night King.


	3. Samwell I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Samwell lends a hand and Jon learns the truth

Sam sat in a chair along the wall of the great hall as Sansa went over the situation with Jon and the Dragon Queen and their counselors. At first after his arrival, Sam hadn’t participated in the Lady of Winterfell’s councils. As a close friend of Jon’s, Sansa had been kind to Gilly and him. But after he became Bran’s confidant, Sansa started spending more time with him and inviting him to her councils. He relayed messages to Bran, and was the one to provide responses to Sansa to her questions. She seemed to find this arrangement satisfying, although she did come from time to time to see Bran herself, as she had before Baelish’s execution. 

For today, however, he listened to what he mostly already knew, and waited for the end of this meeting.

“You have matters well in hand, my Lady,” Tyrion said. “We will send messages to Dragon’s Bay to see what supplies we can bring up the White Knife, though we must be careful with the Iron Fleet roaming the seas.”

“Yes,” said Daenerys, turning to Varys. “Have your Little Birds in the East and West find out as much as you can about Euron Greyjoy’s movements.”

“As you command, my Queen,” replied Varys bowing.

“Thank you, your grace,” said Sansa. She sounded relieved that more supplies were on their way.

“If that is all, perhaps we can reconvene at supper,” Jon said.

“Your Grace,” Sam interrupted. “I do have a couple of matters to raise.”

All eyes turned on the portly member of the Night’s watch. Daenerys, he noticed, glanced towards him and then away. “Have I done anything to offend her?” he wondered silently. Aloud he continued.

“First, I have something that I thought might assist us. In watching the aerial fight, I realized that you could use this.” He lifted a book he had placed next to his chair and opened it to a page full of diagrams. “This is a design for a saddle for dragons I found in a crumbling manuscript by Archmaester Gyldayn while I was in the Citadel,” he said simply. “He lived during the Targaryen dynasty.”

Daenerys looked uncertain. “But I never needed one before.”

“Apologies, your grace, but I saw your reddish dragon . . . “ he paused. “Rhaegal,” the Queen interjected. Sam was a bit startled but continued. “I saw Rhaegal, dive and twist in the wind, but Drogon did not.” The Queen nodded. “With this saddle, and the riding straps that are shown, Drogon could spin and swoop in any way and you would stay on. That might give you an advantage over the Night King.”

Daenerys looked at the plans more carefully. “Yes, I see your point.” She turned to Jon and Sansa. “Can we find some craftsmen to see to it?” 

Sansa smiled, “Of course, your Grace, but you will have to help us get measurements without my saddler getting eaten.” 

Daenerys smiled in return. “I think we can arrange that.” She turned to Sam. “Thank you, Lord Tarly.”

Sam smiled, “I am no Lord, your grace, just a maester in training for the Night’s watch.”

Suddenly her look darkened, and she shifted and continued. “These straps will help, but I worry about our next confrontation with the Night King and his . . . thrall. I never had to try to control Drogon’s brothers, I just relied on them to follow his lead. Fighting the Night King may be harder unless I can figure out a way to control two dragons at once. And the thrall he rides seems quicker than either of my living dragons.” She shuddered

Jon looked somber. He turned towards Sam. “Thank you for thinking of our Queen,” Jon said. “Are there any more surprises you have in store for us?”

“If you wouldn’t mind, your Grace,” Sam replied diffidently, “Bran wanted a moment with you and your sisters, along with Queen Daenerys, if she can make time.”

Jon looked at Sam, “Do you know what he wants with all of us?” He glanced at Sansa, who appeared puzzled by Sam’s intervention.

“Best to have him tell you himself, your grace,” Sam demurred.

Daenerys hesitated. “Can we welcome Lord Tyrion along? He is my Hand.”

Sam hesitated. Bran and he had agreed that it should be the Starks and the Queen only, but he had seen how much the Queen valued the Imp’s judgment. 

Tyrion solved this problem for him. “It’s alright,” he said, “I think I will inspect the camp that my Queen’s armies are setting up and see what needs they may have. Not that I don’t think you have made all the arrangements you could, my lady,” turning towards Sansa.

“No need to apologize, my lord,” Sansa said. “I welcome your counsel on that matter.”

“Good,” Tyrion said, turning back towards the Queen. “I can catch up with your Grace when you return.” Daenerys nodded. Davos and Varys likewise acknowledged they would wait for word when they should convene again.

As they all made their way to the Godswood, with Ghost padding along, Sam was nervous about this plan. He had originally suggested to Bran that they talk to Jon alone, the three of them, but Bran thought that all the Starks and Targaryens should learn the truth at once.

As they approached Bran, he looked up, and Sam moved to his side. Daenerys and Sansa sat at the small bench by the weir tree, while Arya and Jon flanked either side, with Arya next to Sansa, making a small circle with Daenerys facing Bran.

“What news, Bran?” Jon ventured first.

“Nothing new from the North, Jon,” Bran replied. “The dead march towards the Last Hearth, but they remain a ways away. Our raven should have reached them by now.”

“Good,” Jon said.

“And of course, it is not news to you that the Night King roams the north.”

“No,” Daenerys said, she said with a mirthless smile. “It’s not. Thank you for your warning of the Night King’s new mount.” She shuddered, as Bran silently acknowledged her gratitude.

“Rather,” Sam began slowly, “we have other news Jon. News from the past that has much impact on today.”

Jon raised an eyebrow, and Sansa shifted uncomfortably.

“What have you seen, Bran?” she said.

Bran kept his focus on Jon. “Jon, you still know nothing of your mother?”

Jon look surprised, and Daenerys suddenly straightened.

“No . . . I never . . .”

“Jon, this is more important than you know, and it affects ALL of you,” said Sam.

Bran, took a breath. Sam was suddenly reminded for a moment of the boy he met at the Wall, and not the Three eyed raven he had become.

“You are a Stark, Jon, but you are not my Father’s son by birth.”

Jon stared at Bran, not understanding.

“You were born in Dorn, the son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen,” Bran said.

Silence gripped the group.

Jon leaned over and put a hand on Daenerys’ shoulder to steady himself, and Daenerys herself almost slipped off the bench.

“But Bran,” Sansa said. “That’s impossible, Rhaegar kidnapped Lyanna, and Father . . .”

Bran interrupted her. “Aunt Lyanna made Father promise that he would hide Jon’s true parentage. She knew that Robert would never let Jon live if it were known he was a Targaryen and the son of Rhaegar. And Lyanna wasn’t kidnapped. After the tourney at Harrenhall, Rhaegar and she fled to the Riverlands and were married on the Isle of Faces before the Weirwoods.”

“What!?” exclaimed Daenerys.

“It’s true your grace,” Sam said. All eyes shifted towards him. Sam told them of the High Septon’s words, and the annulment, and the fact that the High Septon had married Rhaegar and Lyanna, making them husband and wife.

Arya gasped, “But that would mean . . .”

“That Jon is the true heir to the Iron Throne, at least by the Targaryen tradition of the crown following the oldest male heir,” Sam finished, avoiding Daenerys eyes.

Jon took a step away, “This is unbelievable. Sam, how can you be sure?”

“The Archmaester himself gave me the High Septon’s original diary to transcribe while I was in the Citadel, Jon, written in his own hand,” he repeated urgently. “I don’t see why he would have written it in his private diary unless it were true.”

Sam glanced at Daenerys. She looked stunned, but she didn’t look angry, Sam thought. Still, he hardly knew her, or what she was thinking.

All eyes had turned to Jon. He looked around warily. “I . . . I need some time,” Jon said suddenly, and turned around and strode away, with Ghost padding behind.

“We will leave also,” Bran said to Jon’s back. “Feel free to return to this place if it can bring some comfort.”


	4. Tyrion I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion meets with Sansa to discuss the future.

The northern knight stopped before a door that had two fellow guards before it. “Lady Sansa seems to be taking no chances,” he thought. He couldn’t really blame her with two foreign armies camped outside Winterfell’s walls.

“Lord Tyrion Lannister to see Lady Sansa,” the knight who had shown him the way said simply. One of the guards looked Tyrion over. He was glad he had had the sense not to bring a Dothraki escort. The knight knocked on the door and inquired within.

“Let him pass.” Sansa’s voice reached him from the chamber beyond.

He entered a small office with large windows behind and a giant callabra above. “Good light,” he thought. Sansa was standing before a desk with neat piles of paper, with more on a buffet beyond. Through a door way on his left he saw a larger chamber with a fireplace and a small table. “Her personal chambers,” he thought. He hadn’t spent much time in Winterfell on his previous two trips through the North, seeing more of Wintertown than the Castle. He guessed this was formerly the chambers of Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn. “The Land of Winterfell indeed,” he thought admiringly.

Out loud, he continued, “Lady Sansa, thanks for receiving me.”

“Lord Tyrion,” she nodded in reply. She turned to the guards standing at the door. “You may leave us. I know Lord Tyrion well.”

Tyrion nodded in return acknowledging the trust Sansa had showed in him. “My lady, . . .” he started.

“Sansa will due when we are in private, my lord,” Sansa said, with a mischevious smile. “We were married after all. Would you care for something? I have some mulled wine heating.”

Tyrion had never fancied heated wine, but was willing to drink anything at the moment, and also thought it would be good faith to embrace Northern customs. “Only if you use Tyrion,” he responded. “And yes, some wine would be welcome.”

Sansa moved into the other chamber and ladled out some wine herself from a small round pot heating on the fire into two beautiful silver mugs that had the face of a black direwolf embossed on them. She had enough for two, but moved to ask the guard to have someone bring some more. Tyrion followed her in, and they moved to a small table, where Sansa gracefully sat down. Tyrion climbed into the seat in front of him, grateful to be sitting on a cushion and one that didn’t move from under him, at that. He had been in the saddle too long after too long an absence from the trail.  
“How did you find the Dothraki and the Unsullied?” Sansa began.

“Cold,” he replied simply. He took a sip of the mulled wine. It was surprisingly good. A hearty red infused with some simple herbs. It was sweet but without the cloying taste of the mulled wine in Casterly Rock that he had tasted long ago during the last winter. “It would figure that the North would know how to make good mulled wine,” he thought as he took another sip.

Sansa noticed his appreciation. “You may be surprised to hear that the wine comes from Bear Island.”

“Really?” he said in honest surprise.

“We are best known for our ales and meads of course, but we grow much more of the grape than I knew off the Western coast as well. Most of it is probably not to your taste, but a number of vintages serve this purpose well.”

“You seemed to have quite a grasp on the North’s trade, Sansa.”

“Something I learned along the way, including from you, Tyrion. If I am going to . . . help Jon rule the North, I have to know all its aspects.”

Tyrion noticed how her voice momentarily skipped for a moment, and who wouldn’t rather rule alone than with a sibling? “I saw the King in the North riding out from Winterfell towards the Wolfswood with his direwolf as I came back from my own inspection. He didn’t stop to talk to me.” Tyrion raised an eyebrow.

“Really,” Sansa said. “A moment, if you please Tyrion.” Sansa went to the door and Tyrion heard her ask to be informed when the King in the North returned. A servant came in and refilled the pot by the fire with warm red wine, and departed.

As Sansa came back to the table, she ladled some more wine into Tyrion’s cup and shifted the topic back to the Quwwn’ troops. “And did your inspection identify any more needs?”

They spoke for a few minutes about additional blankets or furs that could be provided to the forces from Essos, and how they could perhaps use the burnt woods of the Wolfswood to develop coals for the cooking fires. Tyrion continued to be impressed with Sansa’s encyclopedic knowledge of the goings on in Winterfell, its assets and its needs.

“We have stores enough for now,” Sansa was saying, “but we must keep with the rationing, which will wear thin. We will need to know how long it will take for more supplies to reach us from Essos.”

“I wish we could draw on our stores at Dragonstone, but I fear that Euron will be watching our ships there closely,” Tyrion replied. He paused. “So, have the Starks and the Targaryens made peace before the old Gods?” he asked.

Sansa shifted slightly on her chair. Gods, she was good, but Tyrion knew her and her moods well. She was uncomfortable, hiding something. She cleverly diverted the subject.

“The Queen is . . . more than I expected,” she started. “Strong, bold and beautiful, yes. But her courage is not confined to her own interests, and her smile is as warm as a summer afternoon. I can see why Jon likes her.”

“She is no witch, yet her charisma can make her seem so.” He paused. “Even a cynic like me has been transformed into a believer. And Sansa, you should know that while she is determined to take the Iron Throne, she is not her Father.” 

“How can we be sure? Rumors have reached me about crucifixions and burning of enemies by dragonfire. I see we have to work with her, of course, but I cannot help but Iook at her and see the daughter of the man who killed my Grandfather and my Uncle.”

“I know it will be hard Sansa. But you have to give her a chance. I have seen her weep over dead child slaves. She truly is a protector, not a tyrant. And killing slave masters who had themselves crucified their slaves on the cross, well, some would call that justice rather than cruelty.”

Sansa had been following what he said closely. “Tyrion, we have both seen our share of monsters. I want to trust that you can tell the difference between them and a person worth following.”

Tyrion acknowledged her concession. “And don’t forget that Jon Snow is your brother and a good, perhaps great man, and he has bent the knee to her.” He hurried on to what interested him most before she could turn him away. “What do you think of them together?”

Sansa stared at him. “What do you mean?”

“Come, Sansa, don’t look surprised. Can’t you tell?”

Sansa seemed to choose her words carefully. “You mean that they are more than . . . ruler and ruled? To be honest, I have been thinking there is more than ‘like’ between them.”

Tyrion smiled. “I always knew you were a smart girl.”

“You mean . . .?” Sansa left the rest of the question unstated.

Tyrion nodded.

Sansa stood up and went before the fire, warming her hands, and staring into the flames. “Well, that complicates things.” She turned back towards Tyrion.

“You mean because Jon Snow is her nephew?” Tyrion said watching Sansa closely.

She stared at Tyrion. “Well, she certainly is a hard one to read, this Lady of Winterfell,” Tyrion thought. Not surprising after all she had endured in King’s Landing, and later here in Winterfell under the Boltons.

“What do you mean?” said Sansa for a second time as she returned to her seat. “Good tactics,” thought Tyrion, “answering a question with another question.”

“Oh come Sansa. It doesn’t’ take a genius to see it. A man with visions of the past and present calls a private council, Jon Snow rides into the woods in distraction, and our Queen closets herself in her rooms by herself. What kind of revelation could cause such consternation?”  
Sansa said nothing.

“And I have talked to many people over the years about Eddard Stark,” he continued, “and you know I travelled with your Mother.” Sansa looked at him sharply. “Of course, he was young once, but your Father just didn’t seem to be the type to betray a proud and beautiful lady like Catelyn Tully, particularly when her beauty was in full flower. In Mereen I ran into an exile from Westeros who was in King’s Landing at the end of the war, and heard much about its aftermath, including Ned’s surprising appearance with a baby after he came north from the futile search for his sister. And when you were just now mentioning the Targaryen’s troubled history with violence, I also noticed that you didn’t mention her brother Rhaegar as having abducted and raped your Aunt Lyanna, which is a story I know is commonly told here in the North  
.  
“With Jon being so . . . close to my Queen, he continued, “I have given him and his history much thought. And in light of your meeting . . . well, it suddenly became more than musing and not a little bit obvious.”

Sansa continued to stare at him. “If this . . . theory were to be true, what do you think it means?” Tyrion leaned backwards with a smile. 

“Well,” Tyrion began, taking another sip of his wine. “It’s hard to say until we know the King and Queen’s reaction. I imagine they are shocked, but what will their attitudes be once that wears off? Will the Queen see Jon as a challenge? Will Jon decide that he should lead the realm? Or will they find other choices?”

“Jon will not want the throne,” Sansa replied firmly. “He barely accepted being King in the North.”

“But didn’t he come to see it as the best way to unite the North to fight the threat beyond the Wall? Why wouldn’t that logic apply to the whole of Westeros?”

“But he seems devoted to Daenerys,” she said. “I can’t see him asserting his claim in these circumstances.”

“Yes, well,” he said, “there is always a solution.” He looked at Sansa. Hard to read, but he thought she had been thinking about it to.

“I find it hard to believe that Jon would wed his Aunt,” Sansa said evenly. “Not exactly something he grew up with.”

“But not unheard of,” Tyrion replied.

“No, not unheard of,” Sansa acknowledged. 

Tyrion jumped in abandoning all caution. He had to trust his instincts. “Sansa, I am guessing that Jon bending the knee to Daenerys has undermined what you have been trying to achieve, I am sure that being back in Winterfell has given you control of your own destiny that you have never had. But one sure way to achieve safety for you and the North would be to have a Stark in King’s Landing.” He left unsaid that she would also likely be Wardenness of the North if Jon became King. “The North would gain a protector in the South, and a great deal of autonomy on its own soil. The question is, can we bring them to it.”

“I will only give Jon my best and open counsel,” Sansa said stiffly.

Tyrion sighed. “I know that Sansa. I would expect nothing less.” He put down his mug. “Thank you for the wine and the conversation. And I will tell everyone the truth, if they ask: That you said nothing about your conversation in the Godswood and it was I who guessed the truth.”

“Thank you Tyrion.” She paused. “I also want to say how sorry I am for what happened to you at Kings Landing. I . . . I am sorry that I left you to what must have been a horrible time, with your time in prison, and your trial.”

“Don’t be bothered by it Sansa,” Tyrion said. He was touched that she would even feel a need to say it. “If you had stayed, Cersei would have used you to add to my suffering. And I doubt you would have had another chance to escape. I don’t blame you for leaving.” He paused. “And I know your choice led you to other kinds of suffering.” 

“Yes, it did,” Sansa said. “Well, thank you for being so forgiving. And thank you for stopping by. I look forward to more conversations with you in the future.”

“As do I, Sansa,” Tyrion said, “As do I.”


	5. Sansa II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa returns to the Godswood. Jon opens up. Sansa has an epiphany.

Sansa entered the Godswood. She had learned shortly before that Jon had returned and after a moment at the great hearth in the Great Hall, had left.

Jon sat on the bench that her father always frequented, the one she had occupied only a few short hours ago. She remembered finding Father there, sharpening Ice, in a seeming trance as he contemplated his world. The main difference was that Ghost was at Jon’s feet, and Jon was idly scratching behind his ears instead of sharpening Ice.

It flashed through her mind in an instance how much Jon resembled Ned, as he brooded on his current troubles. It also suddenly struck her that Ned undoubtedly sat there, thinking about Lyanna, how she died, his promise to her, and what Jon should know, just as much of the same was on Jon’s mind. This likeness steeled her as she approached Jon, who looked up at her with a sad confused look.  
“Don’t,” Jon said flatly. 

She stopped and stood there for a moment. “Do you mind if I just sit here with you?” she asked quietly. He started to say something, but then merely slid over. Ghost moved with him, allowing her to sit, with the head of the direwolf between them. She started scratching Ghost’s other ear. She had grown quite close to Ghost while Jon had been away, and when the lords of the North became particularly unruly, she would bring Ghost with her to the great Hall, where he lay at her feet, part under the table and part out, a silent menace that always gave her words more authority. She had been bringing out the direwolf more often recently as news of Jon’s return became known, reminding the lords of Ghost’s master, and that Jon was truly of the North and Winterfell.

They sat in silence for some time. Sansa knew this was time well spent. It was a small victory that Jon had invited her to sit, and now it was his decision as to what to say. She knew from her life at Kings Landing that sometimes just having someone who was on her side merely keeping her company in silence was calming. She sat thinking about their meeting with Bran and Sam, her conversation with Tyrion, and what the Dragon Queen was thinking. 

“It is just hard,” Jon said suddenly. “Knowing I am the son of a different man, a man who was the son of the man who burnt our grandfather and our uncle alive, a man who would have killed your Father on the battlefield if they had met at the Trident, a man who . . .. It’s just . . . “ His voice trailed off.

Sansa sensed his pain and his confusion. “I can’t know what you are feeling, Jon,” she started, hesitantly. “It seems impossible, doesn’t it?” Her voice strengthened as she suddenly found her rythym, and the words she wanted to say. “But while you might be Rhaegar’s seed, you are still a Stark, and we still share a father.”

Jon looked up and opened his mouth to protest.

“Wait, Jon, let me speak,” Sansa quickly continued. Jon settled, looking at her intently. “I know you say you are not a Stark, and some Septon somewhere may say you have a different name. But when I saw you sitting there just now, you were the spitting image of Father when he came here to think. These were my favorite times with him, you know. I would find out he was here, and I would come to him, and we would talk about the North, and the War, and what it meant to be a knight, and a king. I know now that sometimes when I surprised him, he probably was thinking about Lyanna and you, and Rhaegar and Robert, just as you were.” She paused. “But he never did talk about Lyanna.” Jon looked down.

Sansa reached out and touched his arm, and he looked up. “But mother did.” Jon started.” I know you and she had a difficult relationship. I wish Father could have trusted her to tell her the truth. But Mother spoke about Lyanna, how much Father loved her, more deeply than any other person in his family. He never really knew his Mother, you know, since she died when he was so young, so Lyanna was the most important female in his life. And he loved her wildness, her fearlessness, her steely personality bottled up in her beautiful but small and wiry body. Robert’s Rebellion was as much about Father’s passion as Robert’s, you know.” 

“If he had only known what we know, about Lyanna not being kidnapped” Jon began, “perhaps so much would have been different, so many lives . . .”

“You are right, Jon,” Sansa said quickly, “but that is not our world. Our world is the one where my father was as much your father as mine, maybe even more so.” She paused. “I remember the way he had Ser Rodric work with you and Robb, how proud he was of your skills and your decision to join the Nights Watch. Has it occurred to you that once you took your oath, he might have told you everything?”

“It was the last thing he said to me before we parted on the Kingsroad,” Jon replied slowly, “that he would tell me about my Mother the next time he saw me.”

“I know he wouldn’t have kept this secret forever, and he knew that there was another Targaryen at the Wall, someone who could comfort you.”

“How do you know that?” Jon said, astonished.

“I was talking to Sam about it after you stormed out, and he pointed to the irony of it all, you being at Castle Black with Maester Aemon, one of your relations, and not knowing it.” She smiled. “You are rich in your friends, Jon, and the loyalty they show to you is like the loyalty that so many showed to Father. Jon, he and Jon Arryn were your fathers. And the power of the Stark blood flows through you just as much as it flows through me. Bran, Arya, I, we are only half Stark. You will always be a Stark to me, and I believe you will always be a Stark to the lords of the North, particularly with the three of us standing behind you.”

Jon was silent for a moment. “Thank you Sansa.” He said simply.

“You’re welcome,” she said with a smile. She paused. “Your walking out on Daenerys, though, that is something you still have to deal with.”

Jon looked concerned. “What did she say?”

“Nothing really. She looked surprised, and then a bit worried, frankly. She was going to come after you, but I told her that I had known you almost my whole life, and I knew you would need some time.”

“You were right about that,” and a wist of a smile came to him.

‘I am guessing this is a bit awkward for you both,” she said hesitantly. “But have you considered that she might be happy to know that there was another member of her family who had survived, even if it complicated things?”

“You don’t even know how complicated,” Jon muttered.

“You mean because you’ve been . . .intimate?” Sansa said softly.

Jon looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

“Jon, I am not a child. I am sure you have been discrete, but the way you look at each other, the way you rode after her when she flew off on Drogon, the way you stand so . . . close together. It is so clear you are in love, and that . . . its not just about feelings.”

“Do you think everyone know?”

“Well, I am sure Tyrion does.” She decided not to tell him that he had confirmed her own suspicions only hours ago. “And Arya, well, not much gets past her, though we haven’t spoken of it. And Missandei – I haven’t spent time with her but she seems like she would know the Queen’s mind. And, well, Bran, I am not sure there is anything he doesn’t know.”

“I feel so strange about it now,” Jon said in a frustrated voice. “Being with my . . . Aunt . . . .” His voice faded away.

“Jon, I know it must seem so foreign to you,” Sansa replied, slowly, but deliberately. “It’s not something we grew up with, that’s certain. But even among Northerners, it’s not unknown. We never talked about it much, but Edric Stark married his niece, Serena, and Serena’s sister married her uncle, Jonnel. So it does happen.”

“I don’t remember . . .”

“Well, Serena’s sister was named Sansa, and I learned about all my relations with my name.”

“Still, it seems wrong.”

“I am just saying that with you not knowing, not only is it no fault of yours or hers, but it is not unheard of even here. And certainly nothing to be ashamed of.” She hesitated. “Jon, you also need to think of the good of the realm.”

Jon looked at her. “What do you mean?”

“I . . .” Sansa paused. She couldn’t know if this was right, and there were risks every which way one looked. “But isn’t that the nature of our times?” she thought grimly. She decided to take the plunge. “Look, I may not be on firm ground here. I have barely met the Queen, and while she certainly is proving herself, I have my concerns. And I know you are just trying to grapple with what you have learned. But we have little time. I only mean that the realm was split apart by the conflict between the Starks and the Targaryens. If Daenerys is to rule in Westeros, what better way to have a Stark and a Targaryen rule together? And what better way to cement that bond than to . . . unite?”

Jon looked at her, stunned, as if he was looking at a stranger. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am. She has just showed me how valiant she is, how much she is willing to risk for those other than herself.” Sansa was surprised herself hearing these words flow out of her. “After you left, her concern for you was obvious. And think of how you feel. You would be more fortunate than most. You really care for her, and . . . others have said that together, you would be difficult to defeat. If you trust her enough to bend the knee to her, than this leap should not be so large.”

Jon sat in silence. “Probably in shock,” she thought. Well he had better get used to it. It was the time for straight speaking, not subtle diplomacy.

Sansa stood. As Ghost pressed his head into her hand, she thought about the ease that she had just shared with Tyrion, and how a marriage between a Stark and a Lannister could also end old feuds. She pushed that thought away. Better to deal with that later. She looked down at Ghost and stroked him to cover her momentarily lapse of concentration. Looking up, she said, “I know I have said a lot. Perhaps too much. But whatever you do decide, let me say it again: You will always be a brother to me. And I will never, ever forget the risks you took to win our home back.”

Jon looked up to her gratefully. “Thank you Sansa. And thank you for all you have done for the North while I have been away. To see Winterfell thriving in winter – you are proof that there must always be a Stark in Winterfell.”

Sansa stood straighter, feeling a warmth of gratitude seep over her. “Thank you. And so let me give you one last piece of advice: Don’t wait too long to see Daenerys. She will be bursting waiting to hear from you.” 

Jon and Sansa nodded to each other in turn, and Sansa left to allow Jon to be alone with his thoughts.

And she had some thinking to do as well.


	6. Arya 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya meets an old friend. Daenerys considers more advice.

Arya had had a copy of the plans for Daenerys’ saddle that Sam had discovered, and Sansa had asked her to see to its making personally. One of the saddlers had made a copy, but it was obvious that he would have to be dragged in front of the dragon, and probably could never be trusted to make the measurements that would be needed. She was now on her way to the forge and workshop that had been set up outside of Winterfell. The Dothraki had been around dragons, and would be pleased to help their Khaleesi, she reasoned.

She walked up to the workshop, and was disappointed to learn that no Dothraki were about. She considered who she could get to bring her over to their camp and interpret for her when she heard a voice from her past.

“Arry?”

She turned and there in front of her was Gendry Waters.

“Gendry!” She exclaimed. “You are alive! I thought I would never see you after . . .”

“I know. Neither did I. But here we are. And I suppose it’s safe to call you Arya, now,” he said with a smile.

“Definitely.” She stopped to survey him. He looked much the same, but also stronger, and there was a bit of maturity to him that had not been there before. “How did you get here?”

“Have you met Ser Davos Seaworth?”

“Just,” she replied.

“He helped me escape from the Red Witch and then found me at Kings Landing. He brought me to King Jon before he left for Dragonstone.”

“You were with Jon?” she asked in wonder.

“Yes, we went beyond the Wall together.”

An idea formed in her head. “So you were with him when Drogon rescued the rest from the icy lake?” She had heard the story from Jorah Mormont after the council.

“No, I had run back to the Wall to get a Raven sent to Daenerys.” Arya was crest fallen and tried not to show it. “That’s why I am here, since I lost my Warhammer when I ran back. But the one I am making will be better, as I am putting dragonglass on it.” Arya wondered if she should be thinking about dragonglass weapons, but of course she had a valyrian steel blade.

 

“But I did meet Drogon when he flew back to Eastwatch by the Sea with the rest of them,” Gendry continued. He stopped and his eyes widened. “I will never forget that . . .”

Arya brightened. “So he knows you? You see, I have these plans for a dragon saddle.” She spread out the paper and explained it to Gendry. He nodded. “I fashion all kinds of leather for armor straps, leather jerkins, and sheaths,” he mused. “I could definitely make this, though a saddler might be better. I could always work with one. And as for getting measurements, I am willing if the Queen is. We will need hers as well to make these stirrups.”

“Well then,” Arya mused, “let me get her measurements and get her to help us with her dragons and we can get to work.”

Gendry paused. “There is so much to catch up on, Arya. You don’t even know who I am.”

Arya looked puzzled. Gendry smiled, “You wouldn’t know, but the reason Jon took me with him is that I am Robert Baratheon’s bastard.”

Arya’s mouth hung open for a moment. “Yes, we do have a bit to catch up on. Let’s find time together at the feast. And I can tell you about Hotpie.”

It was Gendry’s turn to be surprised. “Hotpie?!?

Arya had already turned. “See you tonite!” she called over her shoulder.  
* * *  
Arya walked up to the Queen’s chambers. A dothraki and an unsullied stood at her door. “Not sure this will give the northerners confidence,” she thought. 

“Do either of you speak the Common Tongue?”

The Unsullied spoke “I speak.”

“Good, can you tell the Queen that I would like to speak to her?”

“She say she not want to be disturbed.”

“Well, tell her Arya Stark is here.”

After a moment, the guard opened the door and motioned her through.

The Queen was sitting by the fire.

“Good day, your Grace,” started Arya. “I hope you are feeling warm enough despite the cold here in the North.”   
“Thank you for your concern, . . .Arya,” replied the Queen. Arya smiled at Daenerys’ effort to avoid her title. “Jon told me about the hot springs that keep Winterfell from the cold, and I am finding them quite hospitable. The fire . . . it helps me think.” She paused for a moment. “I understand you and I have both been to Essos.” Arya nodded. “Braavos?”

“Yes, your Grace,” she replied hiding her surprise. How had she known? “But I can’t say I saw much of Essos other than Braavos. And Braavos was not so different from King’s Landing, I suppose. Other than the great Titan in the bay. But of course you had the great Pyramids of the cities of Slavers Bay.”

“The Bay of Dragons we call it now. All cities do seem the same in some ways if you strip away the monuments." Daenerys shifted the conversation away from pleasantries. "How can I help you Arya?”

Arya explained what she needed, and Daenerys agreed to meet her first thing in the morning to coax Drogon into being measured. She also called in Missandei from the adjoining chamber and asked her to write down her measurements for Gendry to use.

“Perhaps we can bring Rhaegal as well?” Arya asked.

Daenerys smiled. “Want to meet them both?”

“Well yes, but also, why not make a saddle for Rhaegal as well as Drogon?” she asked.

“For . . .?” Daenerys raised an eyebrow.

“Well, if you ever needed to ride him, or if Rhaegal would ever accept anyone else.”

Daenerys and Arya looked at each other. Arya knew that Daenerys was thinking the same thing she was.

“And how are you feeling about the . . . news that Bran shared with us?” Daenerys asked.

“Jon will always be a brother to me,” Arya said firmly. “He always accepted me for who I am, what I wanted. He took me seriously, even when no one else would. I must do the same.” She paused wondering if she should ask Daenerys how she was feeling, but thought that she would volunteer it if she wanted to. Instead, she put her hand on Needle. “He gave me this sword, you know.”

“May I see it?” Daenerys said. Arya pulled it out and handed it to her pommel first.

Daenerys took the blade and examined it. “It looks like fine steel,” she said, handing it back to her. “How does it fare against larger blades?” 

“It’s all about whose hands it’s in, your Grace,” Arya replied. “I was taught in the Braavosi style, which is about deflection and misdirection. It serves admirably for that purpose.” She paused. “You should have a blade, as well, your Grace.”

Daenerys smiled. “I have my dragons.”

“So did Visenya,” Arya said “but she also carried Dark Sister, an ancient Valyrian steel blade, when she helped Aegon conquer Westeros.”

“Well,” Daenerys said more seriously. “If I ever get my own Valyrian steel blade, I will train with you, if you would, Arya.”

“I doubt anyone else would dare give you a bruise, your grace, so it would be my honor.” Arya frowned. “But the only Valyrian steel blades I have seen belong to others, and they aren’t suitable for you in any case. But we should begin with practice swords in any case, your grace.”

“Very well. Perhaps after we meet tomorrow morning. I suppose we will have to see about a true blade later.”

“Of course,” Arya said, pleased with a good afternoon’s work. Perhaps more would come out of any session with Daenerys than getting her interested in swordplay. “On the morrow then.”

“On the morrow.”


	7. Jon I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon senses an opening. Arya runs into her brother. Daenerys receives a visitor.

Jon left the Godswood and headed towards Daenerys’ chambers. Soldiers eased out of the way, bowing, and greeting him with “Your Grace.” He would have to break them of that habit, Jon thought absently, now that he was merely warden of the North. Or was he? A Targaryen in the North?

He shook his head and pushed these thoughts aside, stopping to greet servants and soldiers he had know all his life or had come to know while he had been at Winterfell after he and Sansa had recaptured it. As he passed through corridor after corridor, their familiarity gave him a comfort that reinforced Sansa’s words and Arya’s earlier embrace. He walked by his old chamber as he made his way towards the upper levels where he now stayed. 

He paused and wondered who had been billeted there. He leaned against the warm stone by the door. His chamber had been smaller than the Stark children, but it was at a juncture of Winterfell’s hot springs heating system, which had been useful during the winter of his youth. It was the only time Robb came to his room, where they would try to puzzle through Maester Luwin’s lessons together.

As he leaned there, Lord Yohn Royce opened the door. He started in recognition. “Your Grace! You startled me. Do you need my service?”

Equally startled, Jon stood straighter. “No Lord Royce, I merely paused here as these are my old chambers.” Jon did not know Lord Royce well, having only met him during his visit passing through Winterfell. But he remembered his father talking of him when they discussed Lord Arryn’s bannermen. “Lord Royce is proud, prouder than a man should be. But he recognizes honor when he sees it,” his Father had explained.

“You honor me, your Grace.”

Jon did not know what moved him, but he jumped in. “Lord Royce, you have briefly met Queen Daenerys. Are you still as dead set against Targaryens as you were before I went South?”

Lord Royce looked at him for some time. “She may be the Mad King’s daughter, but she has more of an air of Rhaella than Aerys.” He said. “And although it may not be too her total credit, because of his misdeeds, Rhaegar as well.” He paused. “You will excuse me for saying so, your Grace, since what Rhaegar is reputed to have done to Lyanna was a crime. But until then, he was in many ways the living proof of a good Prince.”

“Reputed, Lord Royce?” Jon said.

Lord Royce looked away. “I am sorry your Grace, I should not voice any doubts about the pain Westeros suffered because of his actions.”

Jon decided not to press for a view he already knew. But perhaps there was more of an opening here than he had thought. “Perhaps a private audience is warranted with the Queen, my Lord, so you can gain a fuller impression.”

Lord Royce hesitated. “If your Grace asks it, I would be willing.”

“Until later then, my lord,” Jon nodded. “Your Grace,” Lord Royce replied, nodding slightly, as they went their separate paths.

As Jon approached Daenerys chambers, Arya exited.

“Jon!” she exclaimed. Jon thought she was going to throw herself in his arms again, but she restrained herself. “Good that you are coming ‘round.” She walked up to him and embraced him. Jon was touched. He had seen some of the coldness that his sister displayed towards others, and her continued warmth towards him moved him. He surveyed her wiry frame and her sure stance, and thought about her fluid movement. He could see that she could be a deadly weapon if she chose.  
.  
“And what were you doing with our Queen?”

Arya looked at him mischeviously, suddenly looking still less like this cool impassive Arya he had been seeing, and more like her younger self. “Oh many things,” she said. “Including working on getting her to help with saddles for her dragons.” She peered at him more closely. “But I invited her to cross swords with me.” She paused. “What about you? Care to show me the strong arm of a man who killed Thenns and a White Walker?”

His smile left him. “Killing is not a joking matter for me, Arya. Not after all I have seen.” He brightened. “But I would like to see what foreign bits you have picked up. How about I join you when you cross swords with our Queen.”

Arya’s brow lifted at the mention of “our Queen.” 

“Well, we may begin tomorrow. I could always have you be the example of what not to do.” She half smiled, but then turned more serious. “And how are you Jon?”

Jon forced himself to keep looking at her. “I don’t know Arya. To gain so much by coming back here, seeing you, and Bran, and Sam, and then to have the world turned upside down like this. Unsettled is the best word for it, perhaps.”

Arya reached out and put her hand on his arm. “Jon, your father, your real father was the same as mine. He will always be a part of you. But don’t think that embracing your Targaryen side is a betrayal of Father. He would have wanted most of all for you to be true to yourself, not some image you may have had in your head. You can be a Stark and a Targaryen. And you will always be my Brother, no matter what anyone says.”

Jon smiled, hearing his own words to Theon in hers. “Thank you, Arya. Sansa said almost the exact same thing a few moments ago.”

Arya nodded with a smile. “Good. About time that I began rubbing off on her. And being a Targaryen might have its uses you know.” She smiled. “Now, go see the Queen. I am sure you have a lot to talk about.” She gave his arm a final squeeze and turned away.

Jon took a deep breath. He turned to the guards and asked to be admitted. Moments later, the Unsullied guard opened the door. He found Daenerys as Arya did, sitting by the fire.

“Your Grace,” Jon began. He paused. The fire bathed her perfect skin turning it a reddish hue in the weak winter light. She was wearing a long white sheath that also took the color. “Fire turned flesh,” he thought uncharacteristically. “She is a true Dragon.”

Daenerys stood and stopped him before he could continue. “Don’t.” She looked at him warily. “I can’t forget what has happened, despite what we know now. Let’s carry on as before: when we are alone, call me Daenerys.”

Some tension seeped out of Jon’s shoulders. “Alright, Daenerys. And I am still Jon.” He still did not know how to broach the subject. Here stood his lover, a woman of unsurpassed beauty, strength and courage, with a heart larger than the ocean. Yet she was his Aunt, and they would be seen as competitors for the right to rule Westeros. Who would try to use it to their advantage? To divide them. He avoided their dilemma for a moment longer. “How did you find my sister?”

“She is direct, that’s for certain,” she said. “I almost refused to see her, but I have heard that she was much like your mother, so I thought some time with her would be well spent.” He blanched at the thought. Lyanna as his mother did put his relationship with Arya in a new light. 

Daenerys continued to look at him. He knew she was waiting for him to begin.

“I was always closest to Arya,” he said. “She was the only one who really accepted me, and Robb. He was limited by his duty to his mother, Lady Catelyn, as Sansa was. But Arya refused to accept anyone else’s opinion, and I always took her part. Perhaps it was because I did have some special connection to her that we were always close, now that you say that.” He paused, and inwardly holding his breath continued. “How are you feeling?”

“I am still trying to understand how I feel,” she said, looking back at the fire as they both sat. “On one hand I am happy, happy that I am not the last Targaryen in the world. Every time I have thought of the only relative I have ever known, I could only despise him. When I heard stories of . . . Rhaegar, I was always comforted, knowing that my family could be more than the terrible stories I had heard or the experiences I had had. And watching you, and seeing who you are, and to know we are family . . . its uplifting. You bring honor to our name Jon.” She smiled at him, a warm wind melting the coldness that had been in his heart since Bran had revealed his true parentage.

“On the other hand,” she continued, looking more serious, “I am concerned about what this means, for us and for the wider realm.”

“I am confused, too” said Jon. “But you must know, Daenerys, that I have no interest in asserting a claim to the Iron Throne, whatever some book may say.”

“Jon, I appreciate you saying that. Yet another mark of your loyalty. But how can we be sure you will always feel this way? What will duty call you to do? A Targaryen raised by Ned Stark, one of the most honorable men in Westeros. People will not oppose the former commander of the Night’s Watch the way they will the Mad King’s daughter. A Dragon raised by Wolves. If anyone can unite the Seven Kingdoms to face the Night King and whatever comes next, it’s you. How can you abandon that claim when it can help you achieve everything you have strived for?” She paused. “Everything you have risked your life for?"

Jon looked away into the flames She was voicing his own fears, but he knew his answer. As he stared into the flames he could feel her tension, knowing that she thought his looking away was confirmation of her fears.

Turning back to her, he mustered all the sincerity he possessed. “I am here to guard the realms of men, not rule them. And if my dual heritage can help consolidate Targaryen rule, it is your rule I am determined to uphold, if we survive the war that’s coming.”

Jon stopped before continuing. “But I have to admit I don’t know how to do it. With you being my Aunt . . . I . . .”

Daenerys leaned over and put an arm on his. He felt a spark pass between him, as he always did when she touched him. He had sudden impulse to pull her out of her seat and into his arms. “I know I am hardly objective about this,” Daenerys was saying, “and I know our ways are different, but I don’t think we have to leap to any final decisions right now.”

“Sansa just reminded me that Uncles marrying nieces has been known in the North. So I also don’t think I should be excluding anything at the moment.”

Daenerys dropped his hand in surprise, looking stunned. “Sansa was arguing for . . . marriage?”

“Well, not exactly perhaps . . .but nearly. Don’t be so surprised. She has a cool, calculating political mind, my . . .sister. And we do need a plan, we can’t leave this revelation stewing when the Northern Lords are unlikely to accept you as it is.”

“You should always think of her as your sister, Jon.” She must have noticed his hesitation, Jon thought. Her subtlety had always amazed him. She so often could seem to read his mind.

Daenerys continued, “I know what it is to live without relatives. Don’t push them away. Arya just told me that she continues to see you as her brother, and I wager that Sansa feels the same.”

“They do. And I won’t push them away, or I will try not to,” said Jon firmly. “And now you have more than one relative you know.” Daenerys look puzzled. “Well, you may not be related to them by blood, but the Starks and the Targaryens are now linked through me. And you are part of that.” Daenerys looked stunned for a moment, and then smiled, seeming to savor the thought.

“But we do need a plan,” he continued, “we can’t leave this revelation stewing when the Northern Lords are unlikely to accept you as it is. More are coming every day, some from the far reaches of the North. Deceiving them will only make things worse.”

“Well, if you have consulted a cool, calculating political mind about our future, and we need a plan, I think we should engage another one. Do you mind if we share this with my Hand?”

Jon thought for a split second. Tyrion would have to be consulted, and he was likely to have useful thoughts on this situation. He nodded.  
“Good,” said Daenerys simply. “Perhaps we should have both Sansa and Tyrion here to think this through.” 

Jon smiled. Perhaps he could manage to keep from losing himself with Daenerys at his side. If they were together.


	8. Jaime I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime heads north and meets an old friend.

Jaime had been riding hard for days, but his efforts to go North were often diverted by the Dothraki riding up the Kingsroad. While the possibility that he would be recognized was low, he knew he that if captured, he could not meet the Targaryen girl and Jon Snow on his terms. And he was tired of being captured. 

He sometimes ran into Lannister forces patrols as he entered the Riverlands. At times, he would feign he was merely a traveler heading to Riverrun. Other times there would be troops he had known during his last venture to the Riverlands, and he would say he was on a sensitive diplomatic mission for the Queen. Yet other times, he would make a cold camp by himself and then be off at first light.

It was one of those nights, and as they often did his thoughts returned to his own fate. How had it come to this? Him a cripple. Cersei riven by revenge and fear. The House Lannister split three ways or more. His father and his uncle both dead. Casterly Rock, sacrificed for a greater cause. Him, alone, in the middle of a winter landscape that was alien to his southern heritage.

He remained uncertain whether he could ever reconcile with Cersei. After all their years together, as children and then as lovers, he always found a way back into her good graces, and hers into his. Yet now seemed different. He had discovered a path towards recovering his own honor, but it seemed to have put a wall between him and his sister. His vision only focused North and the fight against the hideous monsters that he knew were coming for everyone he had ever loved, including Cersei. If she could not see that, then perhaps that wall would never come down.

Not that she did not have a point. If the Starks and Targaryens were able somehow to defeat the Dead, they could suffer such casualties that she might prevail. But if they did not, then death would take them all. He still could not see how Cersei did not understand that their best chance of survival was to pull together. Perhaps they would not survive as Queen and consort, but at least they would survive. Was Cersei so fixated on the throne that she would rather die on it than find another way to thrive?

He looked up at his sole companion, his horse tethered nearby, which was pawing the snow to get at some grass below. It was that movement that hid the sounds of a lone horseman moving quietly through the white carpeted wilderness.

Suddenly he was startled by a familiar voice.

“And where the f**k do you think you are going?”

He rose and turned to see Bronn standing by a chestnut stallion, bathed in moonlight. He wore a black fur cloak and brown leather boots with fur peeking out of the top forming a fur rim. 

“Bronn,” he acknowledged, trying to hide the surprise he felt. “Funny meeting you on the road.”

“Not when I have been freezing my c**k off following someone who is pretending he is not Jaime Lannister. Who are you tonight? A cousin of Walder Frey who survived the massacre at the Twins?”

“Just a weary traveler who is trying to avoid attention.”

“That won’t work for you. One clasp of your golden hand and they will know you sh*t gold for a pastime.”

Jaime grunted. “It’s amazing how easily I can introduce myself as a left-handed man.”

Bronn snorted, “Well I gave you enough practice, that’s for sure.”

Jaime smiled coldly. “What in seven hells are you doing here, Bronn? I didn’t think you ever were one to abandon the comforts of the Capital.”

“Funny thing about that,” Bronn said, pulling out a sack from behind his mount’s saddle that had wood and a manure and tar starter. He started building a fire. Jaime was unsure whether this was smart, but trusted that Bronn wouldn’t do it if he hadn’t made sure there was no one about to see them.

“Your Sister,” Bronn was continuing, “wasn’t really in a trusting mood after you disappeared. She seemed to be putting even more of her people around her, and I just wasn’t sure that I would survive too much more of her reign. A personal version of her destruction of the Great Sept, I expect.”

“Well, you might not be much safer with me,” Jaime said smoothly. “I don’t have much of a following out here, as you can see.”

“Where the hell are you doing anyway?” queried Bronn. “I don’t really see you becoming a hermit warrior monk wandering the countryside, waiting for someone to cut off your other hand.”

Despite himself, Jaime was amused by Bronn’s irreverence. “If you must know, I am heading to Riverrun.”

“Well that’s no secret based on where your horse is leading you, but why? Going to reinstate House Tully?” Bronn’s tone was drenched in sarcasm.  
Jaime bridled. “Well, yes, if you must know.”

Jaime hardly ever saw Bronn off balance, but this was one of those time. “Are you out of your f**king mind? Not too long ago, didn’t we whip the Freys into shape to take the castle from the Blackfish?”

“Times have changed. The Freys are gone, and the distant cousins who weren’t wiped out are squabbling amongst themselves. Lannister forces have thrown them out of Riverrun to avoid being caught up in a civil war, and my cousin Daven is in command of the Lannister forces there.”

“And what of it?” Bronn had a small fire going, making little smoke. Jaime approached gratefully to warm himself. His gold hand could get quite cold in the winter night, sending shivers throughout his right side. “You are in outlaw now. I don’t even know if you are recognized as a knight.”

“Well, whatever I am, I am still a Lannister, and heir to Casterly Rock, and cousin Daven will listen to me. I intend to install Edmure Tully back in his seat at Riverrun with his Frey wife and baby child if he will swear to support Cersei and send half of a reconstituted Tully Army north with me to Winterfell.”

Twice in one night Bronn seemed speechless. “You ARE out of your mind. You are asking him to both support and betray your sister at the same time. How do you think you are going to be received there? Like the traitor that your sister has made the Lannisters out to be by refusing to abide by her commitment at the Dragonpit?”

“Our family won’t be seen as complete traitors if I arrive at Winterfell with an army of Tully and Lannister men. And I am sending a special gift to the Dragon Queen that I hope will bring me favor.”

Bronn mulled it over. Jaime could tell he was calculating whether he should turn around and abandon him and his far-fetched plan. “You are going to owe me a mountain of gold after this is all over,” Bronn muttered.

“It is past that Bronn. You yourself pointed out that I am a renegade in my own House. Even if I can pull this off, I doubt I am going to get much of a reception at the Capital. And I can’t go back to Casterly Rock and hand myself over to the Unsullied who remained there.”

“Well, when I talked to Podrick,” Bronn said slowly, “he said Jon Snow was the bravest person he ever met, and treated his bannermen well. And this Dragon Queen has all of Slavers’ Bay to draw on. I guess I will have to hope it will turn out better than a slit throat from some assassin I never saw coming in Kings Landing.”

“Good to have you along Bronn.” Jaime smiled, his spirit suddenly feeling lighter.


	9. Melisandre I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Priestess returns. Counsels are taken, and help is given.

Melisandre walked the long steps up to the entrance of the Red Temple in Volantis. She had hired a palanquin to take her from Volantis port, but, after crossing the Rhoyne, she decided to mount the steps herself. It also gave her satisfaction to slowly walk up to the entrance of the largest Red Temple in the world, taking in the imposing atmosphere it created. It was a huge edifice, rising to the sky, with yellow pillars on either side of a great red door. The stones of its walls seemed to shimmer, with varying colors of red, yellow, gold and orange. Massive fires burned on each side of the entrance she was approaching. Far above, a gigantic dome loomed only partially in sight, and towers with bridges between them soared skyward everywhere. It was the largest structure she had ever seen, built by countless slaves and the fever of the worshipers of the Lord of Light.

When she finally reached the top, she faced two members of the Fiery Hand, clothed in their ornate armor and red robes. She was known here, however, and they stepped aside to let her pass within. She had in the past always felt comforted and safe when she entered these walls, but not now. She remained confused about her faith, feeling both the zealot and the skeptic at the same time, or shifting from one to the other from moment to moment. She knew she had always been a servant of the Lord, but now she felt like a tool, one that had been overused and was cracked with wear.

She made her way to the inner sanctum and was admitted to the Vessel of Fire, the chamber of the High Priestess.

Torches surrounded the room, which also had a great skylight letting in the Sun’s rays. Kinvara, her sister, her friend, and her old friend and simultaneously her long-time contender for the Lord’s favor, knelt before a great flame in a massive hearth on the far side of the room. As she approached, she noticed that Kinvara looked as she always had. “We both use that glamour,” she thought.

“So you return empty handed once again,” Kinvara spoke without looking up.

“High priestess,” she acknowledged simply. “The Lord of Light has not yet taken hold in Westeros, but events beyond our designs overcame my mission.”

“I know it well, dear sister,” Kinvara replied. She motioned Melisandre to a small table where they sat across from each other. Their eyes locked and a sudden tension rose. Small images of Daenerys Stormborn, Jon Snow, Stannis Baratheon, and Gendry Waters seemed to flow between them.

“So, you have met Daenerys of House Targaryen,” Kinvra continued, not breaking her stare. “And?”

“She is everything you have heard, your eminence, but I know not whether she is the vessel of our Lord.”

“She is,” Kinvara said firmly. “She rides fire made flesh, and she will bring a new dawn to Westeros, a dawn of our Lord’s faith throughout that cold land.”

“Perhaps,” Melisandre replied. “But she is not one to be devoted to powers she does not understand. She sees her redemption as having been at her own hands, not our Lord’s. Whether we can convince her otherwise, well that is to be seen. And there is another.”

“Another?” Kinvara queried.

“The King in the North, Jon Snow, the Bastard of Winterfell.”

“Ah, the Bastard of Winterfell.” Kinvara nodded. “You met him after the fall of the false King Stannis?”

Melisandre could not stop herself from bristling slightly, but tried not to show it. “Yes, at Castle Black, where he had become Lord Commander of the Nights Watch.” She paused. “After he was betrayed, the Lord of Light rose him from the dead, acting through me. He is a fire wight now.”

“So it is true,” Kinvara made a triangle of her hands. “I saw an image in the flames of a dark haired man, with you over his prostrate body. But he is more than you know.”  
Melisandre looked at her. “I have come to doubt how I should interpret the images in the flames, Kinvara.”

She snorted. “Are you distressed? Do you feel abused by the Lord of Light? You have a part in his designs, Melisandre, but that does not mean that he reveals all. Not even to me. He only reveals what he must in order to have his will be fulfilled on this world.” She paused. “Do you feel used that Stannis’ sacrifice came at your hands? Or that you brought death to a child to further our Lord’s cause? Do not pretend to know his full formed vision. No one, including me, can know that. Seeing the Bolton banners fall before Winterfell, was true, but was for another, not Stannis Baratheon.”

Melisandre sat silent. She did feel used, and lied to. But she could not dispute Kinvara’s words, and had had these same thoughts. “Whatever the case may be, Jon Snow has a role to play in the events that are sweeping Westeros. What that might be, I am not sure, but I know I must return to help the Wolf King and the Dragon Queen.”

“His final part is hidden from me as well,” Kinvara said. “But he is not what he seems.”

Melisandre simply looked at her. 

“He is the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark.” Kinvara paused and returned Melisandre’s stare.

Melisandre sucked in her breath. “That cannot be,” she whispered.

“I have seen it,” Kinvara stated firmly.

“But I have counseled Queen Daenerys to summon Jon Snow, to alert her to the threat in the North.”

“As it should be,” Kinvara replied. “Only together can they defeat our common enemy, along with those they treat with. For the Great Other is on the move, and his destruction, or ours, is now at hand.”

“We cannot stand by, during these events, Kinvara. I must return to Westeros and provide them whatever aid I may be able to bring.”

“indeed you must. Your fate lies in Westeros, as you know full well. And you will find we are not unprepared. Now that you know both Ice and Fire, you can be the Lord’s instrument to help them, and create followers for our Lord from the Wall to the Broken Arm.”

Melisandre smiled grimly. Of followers she no longer cared. For whatever may happen, she knew this would be her final mission for the Lord of Light.

Kinvara was staring into the flames. “And you are right. Jon Snow is more than just animated fire. Fire flows through his veins, but he is not consumed by it.” She looked at Melisandre. “In order to truly help them, you must grow to understand the parts each of them have to play.”  
 


	10. Tyrion 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The North holds council. Daenerys makes an offer. Bear Island intervenes.

Tyrion stood at the side of the Great Hall, perched on a windowsill that gave him a view of almost everyone there. He surveyed the group of Northern Lords and Lords of the Vale gathered together, the largest gathering in living memory, or so he had been told. A number of them had not attended the feast the night before, refusing to break bread with Daenerys. Others had attended, curious about the Dragon Queen. None of them could refuse a call to Council from their King. “Most of them must have heard that Jon had bent the knee by now,” he thought. “What are they thinking?” he wondered to himself again. He had met a few of the lords that were gathering here, and had met others who had come south over the years. But he could not say he knew them well, which worried him.

He looked over at Varys, who was trying to look inconspicuous in a corner opposite him. “Good luck with that,” thought Tyrion. They had agreed to share impressions from their two vantage points once the meeting was over. The Onion Knight, who had been at previous gatherings and fought with the Northerners at the Battle of the Bastards, and knew many well, had a seat near the front, opposite the Knights of the Vale.

Sansa was at the center of the great table at the front of the Hall. Daenerys was to her left, and Jon was to her right. They had agreed that as Lady of Winterfell and having spent so much time with the Northern Lords in recent months, she should occupy the center seat and help preside over the conclave. Bran was at Daenerys left, signaling that she was not a stranger, and Maester Wolken sat at Jon’s right, with Samwell Tarly standing behind the table. Tyrion had not wanted the Citadel represented, but he had agreed to it for balance. As for himself, they had all thought it was better if a Lannister was not central to this congress, given hostility of the North to the lords of Casterly Rock.

Jon rose. “My lords, thank you for your patience while I have been gone, and for your support for Lady Sansa as she prepared the North for war.” At Sansa’s name, the Lords made encouraging noises. “I have returned from the South with two armies and two dragons to help protect the North, and a vast amount dragonglass that will help destroy the Army of the Dead, with more to come. Dragonglass weapons are being forged as we speak. With these allies and these weapons, we have a chance against the Dead.” He paused. He had the Lords’ attention. “And the reason we have this chance, and the reason I am standing here today instead of being turned into another soldier in the Night King’s army is because of the woman before you, Queen Daenerys Targaryen.”

Uncomfortable muttering swept through the Hall. 

"My lords, Queen Daenerys has come to help us fight our common enemy, the Army that marches on the North as we speak, an Army led by an implacable foe riding a dragon thrall of death. We can only defeat this army if we have the full commitment of Queen Daenerys and her forces. Since she has marched North to our aid, I have pledged myself to her cause: uniting the Seven Kingdoms."

The Northern Lords broke into a clamor, with Lords turning to each other talking to each other.

Lord Glover stood, and, as the Hall quieted, his gaze was fixed on Jon Snow, as if Daenerys was invisible. “My King, I am pledged to House Stark, but I cannot pledge myself to House Targaryen. I appreciate the help House Targaryen appears willing to give, but what of the cost? And how can we trust the Mad King’s Daughter, who killed your Grandfather and your Uncle? Particularly a Targaryen advised by a Lannister, who conspired to kill King Robb and his mother? By the time her reign ends, the North that remains may be a North that no one will recognize.” Mutters and calls of approval emanated from various parts of the Hall.

Lord Manderly rose as Lord Glover sat. “I am sure that Lord Glover speaks for many of us, but not for all of us.” A silence gripped the Hall as all eyes turned to the powerful Lord of White Harbor. “I have travelled with Queen Daenerys up the White Knife and then on to Winterfell. I knew the Mad King, and she is not him. Even on his best days, the Mad King would have never risked his power, and certainly not himself, in service of any other.” He surveyed the room, with his eyes lingering on Lord Glover for a moment. “Have you heard that the Queen flew north of the Wall to save our King? She could have let him perish. It might have even served her interests to do so. But she didn’t. Isn’t that a leader worth following?” Tyrion nodded approvingly to himself. He had talked to Lord Manderly during the trip to Winterfell, and Daenerys had had several meetings at his recommendation. “Careful gardening yields beautiful blooms,” Tyrion thought smugly. 

Jon Snow rose again. “Thank you Lord Manderly. I do not doubt that Queen Daenerys will do her best for all the Seven Kingdoms, or I would not be supporting her.” He paused. “As for doubts about House Targaryen, there is a fact you all must know:

“I am a Targaryen as well as a Stark.” The room was deathly silent for a moment and then shouted questions emerged from all corners of the room. Jon let the tumult go on for a moment and raised his hand and the crowd quieted.

“I have learned that I am the true born son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen, born in a tower in Dorne after a secret wedding ceremony after the annulment of Rhaegar’s marriage to Elia Martell.”

The room once again burst into noise as the Lords of the North proclaimed their surprise at this announcement. Before Jon could go on, a man rose from towards the back of the Hall.

“My Lords,” he shouted over the din. The crowd turned their gaze to the short and lean man, dressed in green, with a trim grey beard and a trident in his hand, which he leaned on like a staff. “Many of you may not know me, for I have not been to Winterfell for years on end. I am Howland Reed of Greywater Watch.”

Despite themselves, the crowd fell into a renewed silence. Lord Reed was a legend. Everyone knew of his service to Eddard Stark during Roberts Rebellion and his actions in the Neck during the War of the Five Kings to harass the Greyjoy forces. “But is he up for what must be said?” Tyrion worried again. He was frustrated that he could not take direct part in this critical meeting, but he knew this was the only way.

“I was with my friend, Lord Eddard Stark, when we rode to Dorne and faced the Sword of the Morning at the Tower of Joy,” continued Lord Reed. “We were there to rescue Lyanna Stark, but, after we slew the three Kingsguard who were protecting the Tower, we found Lyanna dying from the birth of her son. That son was Jon Snow.” 

The room burst into noise again, but Howland Reed raised his hand and the noise subsided again. “She made Lord Eddard promise that he would protect him, for in the passions of war, she knew that he would not survive Robert Baratheon’s wrath.

“Lord Eddard swore me to eternal silence, and I have not left the Neck since I returned, in part to preserve that pact. But now King Robert is dead. Lord Eddard is dead. Lady Catelyn is dead. King Robb is dead. And Lyanna’s son, who she named Aegon Targaryen, rules the North.

“I cannot tell you to forget the suffering of the North during Robert’s Rebellion, or at the hands of Frey betrayals and Lannister treachery. But know this: Lord Stark lived his life protecting Jon Snow. And he would have given his life to protect his nephew, just as he was willing to besmirch his reputation by declaring him his own bastard. If we are to honor Lord Stark and Lady Lyanna, we must accept him both as who he is and who he has become, because that is what they would have wanted.”

As the Lords of the North absorbed Lord Reed’s speech, Daenerys Targaryen rose. Tyrion could not help but shift from one side to the other. What she said next, and how the Lords received it, would be key to all their hopes.

“My lords, this shock may be news to you, but when I heard it only days ago I was not surprised by it. As soon as I met Jon Snow, I knew he was different, and a kindred spirit. Someone who used power to help others, not for his own gain. A man with unbridled strength and a will to persevere against all odds. 

“I did not know about Jon Snow’s heritage until I arrived at Winterfell, but it would have made no difference in my resolve to come here, or save him from the Army of the Dead. I came here to protect the North, not conquer it. So, with Jon’s permission, let me be clear about what I believe we must do.

“Accept me as your Queen, and I will name Jon Snow to be Jon Aegon Targaryen Stark, and I will name him heir to the Iron Throne.

“Accept me as your Queen, and I will give him the chance to rule beside me as King and Queen together over whatever is left of the realm after the Great War.

“Accept me as your Queen, and I will use all the resources at my command to help destroy the Night King, and support the North during the Long Night.

“And if you do, I will not order any Northern House to fight with me against Cersei Lannister and those that conspired to kill Lord Eddard Stark, Lady Catelyn, and King Robb. But I will ask for that assistance after the Northern threat is dealt with, and I hope you will march south to avenge their deaths one last time.

“And I will name Lady Sansa Stark Warden of the North, if you and she will. For I have learned what you all already know: there must always be a Stark in Winterfell.” There were murmurings of approval as eyes turned to Sansa. But the Queen continued.

“I do not make these promises to make you think I am great of heart. I make these promises because I have seen the Army of the Dead. I have seen the Night King. I have seen him do what I thought was impossible: kill a dragon with a single throw of a single spear.” She paused and a tear rolled down her cheek, but she continued strongly. “And I have seen what we all will become if we do not join together to destroy him and his army. That is why I reach out to the North with an open hand. To save us all, and the children yet unborn in their wombs, both here and in the South and beyond. I hope you grasp that hand in friendship.”

Before anyone else could speak, Sansa rose to address the gathering as the Queen took her seat. Tyrion could see that the Northern Lords were moved by Daenerys speech, but not all were convinced with many wavering. Could Sansa clinch the mood that was building in the room? “My lords, I learned of our King’s true heritage only shortly before you, but let me speak for my sister Arya and my brother Bran, with their permission. 

“Jon Snow will always be our brother, and for us, our father will always be his true father. He is as much a Stark as any of us. And as many of you have told me, he is most like our Father, just as many say that Arya is most like our Aunt Lyanna. In normal times, I would not want any Southerner ruling the North, and I would not abide by a Targaryen restoration. But these are not normal times. The Queen may well have saved Winterfell from the Night King and his thrall by her quick action. I was with her. I did not see her hesitate. I did not see her flinch in fear. All I saw was a fierce determination to destroy our enemy, the enemy who seeks to kill us all.” 

She paused. “Jon will tell you if he is willing to take up the Queen’s invitation, but I know that she deserves our support. And if he does, one with Stark blood will share the Iron Throne, something that has never happened in the entire history of Westeros. I believe it is the only way we can come together to face the dark storm before us, and protect us from whatever may come after.” Sansa took her seat. She had done admirably, Tyrion thought. Heartfelt and wise sounding. Yet these stubborn Northerners appeared not to be totally won over. 

Yohn Royce stood. “I cannot speak for Lord Robin of the Vale. But I have seen a dragon bound for my camp, and I saw the blue fire that burned the Wolfs Wood. I would probably not be here today had it not been for the Queen and her dragons. I know not if the Queen will become as her Father did, but I believe we must take Lady Sansa’s advice. If King Jon shares the Iron Throne, then we should support whoever shares it with him.”

All eyes turned to Jon who slowly stood. “My Lords, we must stand together if we are to win this fight. Daenerys Targaryen has kept her word, and more, during all the time we have known each other. I will agree to share the throne with her, if you all will accept us as King and Queen.”

Lyanna Mormont stood for the first time. Tyrion gulped. This was not part of the plan, he thought with a rising sense of panic. Howland Reed was suppose to take the floor. What was this ferocious little bear going to do?

“I know no King but a King whose name is Stark.” Looking at Jon directly, she said, “I don’t care whether you are Eddard’s or Lyanna’s son. I have seen you in battle, and you are of the North, no matter who your sire may have been. You have the wolfish blood, that should be clear for everyone to see.” She stopped to survey the gathered Lords. “We must put aside our differences or face our own deaths. And we must do it now.

“To the Dragon and the Wolf!” she cried, turning back to Jon and Daenerys.

The entire room rose as one and swords swept from their scabbards. Howland Reed’s trident thrust higher than any.

“The Dragon and the Wolf!” they shouted. “The Dragon and The Wolf! The Dragon and the Wolf!” 

The shouting went on for some time. Tyrion smiled. The scene that Sansa, Jon, the Queen and he had cooked up had come to pass, even better with Lady Mormont’s help. They had been very fortunate that Howland Reed had appeared in the night, and that Daenerys and Jon’s private meetings with Lord Royce and with other key lords had gone so well. “But was it fortune or is it destiny?” he wondered, furrowing his brow. He put the greater mysteries aside and turned back to the present. This was only the end of the beginning: the deadly part came next.


	11. Interlude:  The Night King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Night King flies and the North burns. Beware Bear Island!

He was never alone. The tendrils of his mind reached out like 100,000 strings of dark light, connecting to the host that obeyed to his commands, the host whose movements coursed through him like waves crashing on a distant shore. And he sensed the Others, those he had transformed to immortal allies with a single touch, helping him raise the dead and accomplish his purpose.

But his purpose was no longer the purpose that had been set for him. He felt the obsidian dagger yet, the one that the deceivers had plunged through his chest. The dagger that pulsed within his dead but beating heart, pumping liquid ice to the ends of his limbs, to his head that swelled with the march of tens of thousands of feet, heading to the castles of this too alive land. The dagger that had been thrust into him those many thousands of years ago. The dagger and its magic that had stolen away what he was then and forced him to become what he was now.

He felt no hate. He felt no anger. He felt no emotion. He did not remember what an emotion was, having last experienced fear so many thousands of years ago. Now he was consumed by a single purpose, to end what had begun, to destroy his tormentors, and to destroy the magic that was his plague.

He closed his eyes and saw a world of confusion and chaos. The fools had left themselves open to him, fighting amongst themselves until they were weak, just as he had forseen it. He had plotted so carefully to lure the dragons north, and stretched even his abilities, planting visions in the flame so often used by his enternal enemy. And now he had a dragon of his own. He had breached the ice cliff and now his host was bearing down on the feeble keeps of this land, and the lands beyond. He would take every castle he found, and cleanse it so that nothing was left to stop him from fulfilling his purpose. 

He felt his army march south while he flew west. The Others would keep the dead on their road, with his help. Even now they were approaching the first keep. It would be cleansed.

He flew over the castle abutting the wall. In the distance he could see a small baggage train fleeing South. His children and his host would take care of them. He skimmed the top of the cliff and willed his thrall to destroy the ramparts. Blue flame engulfed the top of the wall, destroying the fortifications on either side of the wooden shaft that reached to the ground.

He swept north and willed more fire from his mount, which consumed the forest nearby. On he rode burning the forest until the ancient trees were all on fire. His dragon slowed, beat its wings so it hovered and gave one more long blast of blue flame, consuming the most ancient grove below. Cleansed. Now time to move on to the keep that his army could not reach, the island surrounded by waters that his host could not cross.

He thought again about the failure to gain another dragon to support his cause. His vision had been so clear: The two dragons over Winterfell. The fall of one of them. But the future was always cloudy, even if his sight had been true on all other matters he had seen. But no matter. The dragons would all die in the end. He would see to it. And then he would be mighty beyond any understanding or imagination, even his own. And he would fulfill his purpose. Finally. 

He flew west, and slowly the sea came in sight. And then the island beyond. Another keep to be cleansed. As he would cleanse the world.

End of Part I.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the end of Part I and its ominous last segment. A bit of a departure but this is how I hear it in my head. I am sure that my allusions to the NK's and the AotD's goals are pretty obvious. I may be taking a bit of a hiatus as the second part of this story arc is less well formed than the first (although much has been mapped out). I am likely to continue to add chapters here as opposed to starting a whole new "Part 2" but I do like the closed nature of this narrative.


End file.
